When the dark clouds drift away.........

When the dark clouds drift away,  

And heavy rains begin to pour,  

As the poet-cloud dissolves in silence,  

A forest-rain begins to roar!  

In time that has already ended,  

Histories lie buried deep—  

Yet in life, as endless epics,  

Their characters still do weep.  

Wisdom’s sacred formulas  

Are sold like market wares,  

And in this dim-lit life,  

Scriptures vanish unawares.

Before it fades, life’s corners  

Are arranged in quiet grace.  

Before we grasp, they vanish—  

Like memories time can’t trace.  

When beautiful words are scattered,  

Emotions still remain.  

Markets now are built upon  

The intellect’s domain.  

Ages rise with systems  

That price love’s gentle flame.  

Thoughts without conviction  

Rush toward ruin’s name.

Like the old, the new too  

Fades in the gaze’s blur.  

In words of praise, we glimpse  

Affection’s subtle slur.  

Like pages we forget  

Before we even read,  

Virtues now are sold  

In place of gifts and deeds.  

In times when vision shifts,  

Even Bharat may recede.  

On journeys with no path ahead,  

Only sight shall lead.

Beneath the shade, the heart  

Finds no peace to claim.  

In time’s relentless current,  

We pause to think in vain.  

Events unfold around us,  

Leaning on acts and roles—  

The feeling once called friendship  

Now on performance rolls.  

Like days that break apart  

Without a balanced core,  

Life too shatters, centerless,  

As dramas crowd the floor.  

Lives without a middle ground  

Uproot hope’s tender lore.

When unspoken words are scattered,  

Relationships grow frail.  

In the word we call “belonging,”  

No feelings now prevail.  

Though we own a house,  

Its walls are dull with sloth.  

Even if we shed our tears,  

Belonging comes with cost.  

Though Tamil is our tongue,  

Some feelings go unsaid.  

Even if the taste of speech may change,  

Belonging stays in the heart, widespread.

From bloom to withering end,  

The heart’s journey flows.  

What’s forgotten, what’s remembered—  

Like the sound of rain, it goes.  

Poems rise within the mind,  

Emotions are denied.  

In corners of the heart,  

The monsoon comes to bide.  

Though people seek a change,  

Their minds remain the same.  

Life itself is now for sale—  

A price upon the flame.

Sakthi Sakthithasan